Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Kiribati and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing John Lydon to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Crooked Eye. All the underground hits.
All The Names tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Magazine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharoah Sanders record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The American Breed,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sex Pistols,
The Durutti Column,
the Slits,
Warren Ellis,
Smog,
Mr. Review,
the Bar-Kays,
Pussy Galore,
Qualms,
the Germs,
The Velvet Underground,
Junior Murvin,
Judy Mowatt,
Kool Moe Dee,
Minny Pops,
The Golliwogs,
Jesper Dahlback,
Joe Smooth,
48th St. Collective,
Accadde A,
the Soft Cell,
David Axelrod,
Depeche Mode,
Yellowson,
Joe Finger,
Scan 7,
Skaos,
The Index,
Archie Shepp,
Swell Maps,
Sister Nancy,
The Busters,
Eurythmics,
The Residents,
Lou Reed,
Lakeside,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Dead Boys,
Cecil Taylor,
Crispian St. Peters,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Trojans,
Dawn Penn,
Young Marble Giants,
The Angels of Light,
the Sonics,
The Blackbyrds,
Nils Olav,
Patti Smith,
the Human League,
The Cure,
Black Flag,
Ultra Naté,
The Shadows of Knight,
Silicon Teens,
Zero Boys,
Ultimate Spinach,
Freddie Wadling,
Public Enemy,
Clear Light,
Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.